In My Stead
by Kailene
Summary: As Mac watched Jack walk away, he realized that a simple handshake wasn't enough.


The writers spent two and a half seasons showing us how close Mac and Jack were; their co-dependancy, their bond, and just how far and how much they would do for each other. To end that, to have Jack walking away, into harm's way, into a dangerous mission, with Mac not knowing if he'd ever see him again, with only a handshake? It was disappointing to say the least. So... I had to fix that.

Huge Thanks to SabbyStarlight for Riley and Mac's final dialogue, it's perfect and just the ending I was looking for. And to RiatheMai for the beta and summary, you're awesome.

~~~MacGyver 2016~~~

"Jack... __Jack__!"

Long legs carry him across the War Room rug in just a few quick strides. He heads towards the door, his laser focus distracting him from all but his goal, and his forward momentum careens him into a corner. Body unbalanced, his shoulder clips wood hard enough to jar his entire body. A distant part of his brain informs him that they'll be a spectacular bruise there later on, joint swollen and painful to move even the littlest bit. But he ignores it, files it away for a later time.

He pushes himself off the wall and shoots his arm out, long fingers wrapping around the jamb to steady himself. He uses the extra balance as a fulcrum to help him change direction without having to slow down or cause him to lose speed as he sprints into the hallway after his partner.

He can hear Matty calling after him, her voice so full of motherly understanding it almost breaks him right there on the spot, Riley's soft pleading mixed underneath. Bozer's deep tone, trying to be strong and the voice of reason, rounding out the pleas for him __to stop__ and __don't do this__, and to __just... come back__.

Though he's not all that sure that the last one, spoken so soft and quiet, is directed solely at him.

Mac ignores them all. He has to do this before it's too late. Before he loses his chance. Afterwards, he'll rejoin the rest of his family. The wolf pack that is left will regroup, band together, stay strong for each other until the Pack is reunited and is all back together once again.

But for now, he calls out again.

"Jack... Hey, wait up."

Mac jogs to a stop as Jack slows, his partner's steps faltering as he finally comes to a full stop. Jack doesn't turn around, though. And Mac understands why that is. Saying goodbye once was hard enough. Having to say it again…

"__Mac__…" Back still towards him, Jack's voice is a rough drawl, Mac's own name coming out wet and broken.

"Jack… I know—I know," Mac reassures quickly. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, swallows thickly, clamping down on the turbulent storm of emotions that are riding so close to the surface. So close to breaking free from the tenuous hold that he has them in.

He tries to keep his voice strong, steady, infuse as much understanding into it as he can. There will be time enough later for him to fall apart. Right now, for Jack's sake, he needs to stay strong. Jack has enough on his plate at the moment. He doesn't need to be worrying about his kids back home any more than Mac knows he is already going to be.

"I know you have to leave," Mac says softly, empathetically.

Jack still hasn't turned around. Even through his BDU's, Mac can see how stiff he is holding his body, back tight, shoulder squared, muscles running along either side of his neck taut. His rucksack is still slung over one shoulder, hand gripped tight to the strap. But his other arm hangs by his side, forearm tense, hand clenched into a tight fist.

And even though Mac is staring at the back of his head he doesn't need to see Jack's face to know that his eyes are closed, jaw clenched and mouth a thin line.

Holding himself in check; holding himself together.

"I meant everything I just said in there," Mac says again, because he needs Jack to know this. He knows just how hard it is for Jack to follow these orders and to walk away from them all. To leave them all behind after giving each one of them his solemn promise time and time again that he never would. It must feel like a betrayal of the biggest proportion to his best friend.

Like he is letting them all down.

When it is just the opposite. Mac couldn't be prouder of the man standing in front of him.

So, Mac needs Jack to accept that Mac doesn't hold his departure against him in any way. That it doesn't—__it won't__—change anything between them.

No matter how long he is gone.

"There are a whole lotta people out there…," Mac begins, "Ordinary people who are trying to live their lives, go to their everyday 9 to 5 jobs, bring their kids to school, go to the park. Innocent people who don't know the danger that is headed their way. That don't know how to protect themselves. That don't know how to save themselves when it does inevitably come."

Mac takes a few more steps, closing the distance between them.

"But you do," he states softly, "Because saving people? Protecting them? It's not just what you do; it's who you are, Jack. And I can't think of a better person than you to head up this hunt. To once and for all take this madman not only off the board, but out of the game permanently. You're a real-life hero… Han Solo and John McClane all mixed together."

Jack huffs out a wet laugh. "Now you're just gonna make me cry."

"Nah… Delta's don't cry, dawg, remember." Mac lowers his tone to a deeper register, attempting a—no doubt—poor imitation of Jack's natural drawl.

Jack finally turns around, neither one of them commenting at the hand he brings up to his face, fingers swiping at the tears that have escaped to run down his cheeks as he does so. But he's smiling. The gesture is more than a little bit wobbly around the edges, but it's genuine, real, brown eyes bright with a touch of mischief now too, the skin at the corners crinkling, chasing some of the shadows away.

Mac smiles back at him and he's sure that his own is just as shaky as Jack's is. But Mac's heart lifts just a tiny bit, lightens at the knowledge that the comparison to his two favorite fictional heroes did the job that Mac intended for it to do.

"Thought you said you had nothin' planned, hoss?" Jack reminds him, and Mac just shrugs one shoulder.

"I improvised," he says easily.

"Yeah. Yeah… that's what you do best, ain't it?"

__Improvise__. Yeah, Mac thinks, that is just what he does. When the two of them have their backs against the wall, when the mission has gone pear-shaped, when they need that 11th hour Hail Mary… Mac sees the problem, uses the tools and implements from the environment around him to build a __gadget__ or a __thingamabob__ that will provide an answer, produce a solution, or solve the issue that's facing them; one that will get them both to safety, that will get them both back home.

Except, this time…

This time there is nothing in his environment that Mac can grab. Nothing he can beg, borrow, or steal.

There is no gizmo he can manipulate that will solve this crisis, nothing that will get them both to safety, that will get them both back home.

There is nothing at all.

Because Mac won't be there.

This time, Mac won't be there when all the chips fall, as they inevitably always do.

Except, he can be…

As much as his improvisations are based in science and theory, this one is not.

This one is built on crazy and outlandish, on a wing and a prayer.

This one is built on instinct and heart.

It's them and their partnership all summed up in a single gesture.

Mac reaches into the pocket of his cargo pants and then extends his hand towards Jack.

"What's this?" Jack tips his head to the side, brows furrowed in confusion as he waves a couple of fingers in Mac's direction.

"It's my knife," Mac informs his best friend needlessly, the __obviously__ evident in his tone and the slight uplift of the corner of his mouth. "And it's for you."

Jack harrumphs and rolls his eyes. "I know it's your magic knife, dude. And I'm not taking it."

He takes a step backwards, and Mac promptly steps forward, then matches him step for step as Jack continues to move away. They've done this dance many times before, split almost evenly down the middle on who comes out as the victor. But Jack Wyatt Dalton can be a stubborn SOB when he really wants to be. He can dig his heels in and plant his feet like the roots of a hundred-year-old tree, and be just as hard to move or sway in any direction.

Right now, though, they don't have time for their usual ways of settling issues when one of them is being too obstinate for their own good, so Mac uses his longer legs to close the distance between them, taking advantage of his longer reach to grab hold of the strap of Jack's rucksack and stop him from retreating any further.

"Mac… That's yours," Jack says stubbornly, but then his voice softens. "That little thing has saved your life more times that I can count. You need that. I'm not taking it, man."

"It's saved __our__ lives," Mac corrects him. "And you're not taking it, I'm giving it to you."

"Mac—"

"No… listen to me," Mac implores. He lets go of the hold he has on Jack's pack and drops his hand back to his side, knowing if he doesn't do it now, he never will. He looks down at his swiss army knife gripped in his hand then looks back up at Jack.

"When my grandfather gave me my first one when I was ten years old, he told me it had a tool for everything, that it could solve any problem that I ever had. And it has. __Every single time__; it has never let me down, not once, even when our backs were against the wall and chaos was raining down. This has saved us—__both of us__… it's brought the two of us home more times than even __I__ can count," Mac has to pause a moment, clear this throat more than once. But it doesn't help. It doesn't stop the hitch that breaks up his words or the hoarse, gruffness that coats his voice.

He extends the arm once again, opens his hand, red knife laying in the center of his palm.

"If I can't be by your side, helping you out… Watching your six, well… This will have to be the next best thing."

Jack takes a deep inhale, lets it out slow and smooth. A decision made. And he nods his head, firm and decisive. He reaches out, his touch almost reverent, as he lifts the knife off Mac's hand.

Jack wraps his own hand around it, strong fingers holding it tight, guarding it.

"I can't—," He stops himself, and Mac feels the tears pool in his eyes, because he knows what Jack was going to say, is all too familiar with the reality of what Jack is walking into. Jack opens his mouth, then closes it again. He clears his throat, but like Mac, it does no good and he doesn't even try to mask or hide the emotions that steal his voice and choke his words.

"I promise you… I'm going to do __everything__ in my power to come back and return this to you, in person. And I want you to—I want you to make me a promise, too, brother. I want you to promise me—__Promise me__… That when you're assigning value to items or to people for your latest Hail-Mary build to save the world, that you make sure that you assign a value to yourself, alright? That you put you at the top o'that list because if you're—if you're dead then you can't help anyone. You hearin' me?"

Mac nods his head. "I will." His reply, __his vow__, is soft, broken up words, barely audible through a throat so tight with emotions that he can hardly breath.

Jack holds his gaze for a moment, one last look, one last time. He cants his head to the back, motioning vaguely with his hand in the same direction before speaking. "I, ah… I gotta go. S'ppose it wouldn't look all that good if the boss was late now would it?"

The joke falls far short of its mark, but Mac huffs out a short, wet laugh anyway. Jack gives him a salute, sharp and strong, before he turns on his heel and walks down the hall.

Back straight, head held high.

Mac senses movement behind him and smiles softly. He expected them to join him in the hallway much sooner than this; he's honestly surprised that they hadn't.

Mac's grateful, more than he is ever going to be able to express, that he had these few extra moments alone with Jack. To be able to say the words and express the sentiments that had escaped him previously in the War Room, and he's sure that he has Matty to thank for that time.

He wraps his arm around Riley's waist when she steps up on one side of him. Her big, dark eyes as she looks up at him are bright and wet, pain-filled and scared. He gives her a nod of his head, leans down, places a kiss on her temple and she melts into his side as he hugs her close.

Because what is there to say? The exact same feelings that are reflected in her eyes are swirling around inside of him also. Any words of assurance would be empty platitudes and they all made a promise long ago to never offer those.

They all watch Jack's retreat as he walks down the long corridor, passes through the double set of security doors, and stops at the elevator.

That will take him out of the building.

Out of their lives.

He still doesn't turn around, doesn't look back. Stands almost at attention as he waits.

The arm that's hanging by Jack's side suddenly moves. It's the slightest of movements, the quick, little, jerking motion looking to anyone else like he was simply flexing his hand.

But Mac isn't just anyone. He knows the movement for what it is. It's the code that Jack had started teaching him way back during their long, hot days in the Afghan desert. The secret communication that the two of them have continued to build on.

The cipher that each person standing with him has continued to add to it as well.

Mac huffs out a shuddery breath, blinking back the burning sensation that stings his eyes as he puts the gestures together and shakes his head. It doesn't surprise him in the least that his partner knows even without looking that they are all standing there and the message he gives to them.

__Behave yourselves__

His finger's start moving again, swipes and flexes and twitches of his fingers. The movement is longer this time, minute breaks every few gestures that denote the start of a new word.

__Don't do anything I wouldn't do__.

Riley hums as she decipers the signals and Mac can feel the vibration in his chest where her head is still tucked, the sound a question, a hesitation as if she's thinking, contemplating before she speaks. "I can't think of a single thing that Jack wouldn't do."

It's Jack, being Jack. Cracking a joke, being funny, keeping things light. Trying to keep his kids from being more upset.

But…

"I don't know," Mac answers. His voice is soft, a barely-there shattered whisper. Tears slip free as he continues speaking, to himself or the rest of his family; he's not sure, and he feels Matty's small hand grasp his. He curls his fingers around hers, holding tight, holding him together, a lifeline in the storm. "I never thought he would leave me, too."

The elevator dings, the doors open and then slide silently closed.

And Jack is gone.


End file.
